You Can Close Your Eyes
by natashas-barton
Summary: An alternate take on the aftermath of Clint's recovery from Loki. Clint is hesitant to go back to work after these events, but not just because he was brainwashed, but because he knows he cannot take for granted the time he has left with his family. It's not for years later, that Natasha has to break dire news to the whole team.
1. Prologue

**This story is inspired by and named after the song You Can Close Your Eyes by James Taylor.**

 **I suggest everyone listen to it as some point, it's a very heartfelt little song. This will be maybe 3-4 chapters. You'll notice the other songs are named after James Taylor songs, as well. This will not be as long or detailed as my other fics, especially Dear Agony, but it was just an idea I wanted to write. Now, mind you, this will not be a very happy story eventually, however that's the genre I typically write, and enjoy writing. With that said, I do hope you enjoy, and expect an update soon. Oh, and the words in brackets are what Clint is (attempting to) lip read.**

The Prologue;

The old floorboards of the hallway which Clint knew he needed to repair soon, creaked throughout the small farmhouse. The young father who was nearly deaf, whose hearing aid was in the pocket of his combat coat, didn't notice the soft creaks as he made his way towards the stairs. That was, until he felt a soft tap on his forearm, which made him tense up stiffly, as he pivoted around to see who it was.

Despite his son being almost four, he was still getting used to being a parent, and living a life outside of his work. While he should have known better, the Archer's keen eyes noticed his son's wide blue eyes. Exhaling to relax his form, Clint laughed lightly as he shook his head and dropped his bow and quiver. Gently kneeling in front of Cooper, a half gloved hand ruffled his hair as he spoke quietly,

"Hey bud, you scared me. What you doing up?"

Clint focused on Cooper's lips as he worked to place his aid in his ear, and then his son's timid voice was audible to him.

[ I'm sorry, I heard you mooing, moving, down the tall, halls. ] " - but do you leaving again?"

Clint looked down at his black combat boots, before tender grey blue eyes held the gaze of his son, which looked like his blue eyes were about to water with tears.

"Come here Coop." He said as he embraced him warmly, closing his eyes as he lowered his head over his shoulder. Part of the hug was for the kid, but the other part, for the now easily sentimental assassin made father, who was now dreading leaving even more than he already had.

The boy buried his head in his father's chest, as Clint began to speak in a hushed voice,

"I wouldn't leave if I didn't have to, Coop. But it's only for a night, I have to help Director Fury guard the cool glowing square thing from space I was telling you about earlier. But tomorrow Nat will be back, and she can take my shift. It's nothing serious buddy."

Cooper looked up at his father who gently looked down at him, as he held him closer and asked,

"Can I go with you?"

Laughing lightly, Clint shook his head as he placed a hand on Cooper's back,

"I wish you could, but how about this, I'll sneak a picture while I'm up in my 'nest' watching it huh? Just as long as you don't tell anyone though."

Cooper's tired eyes grew large in thought before he softly nodded his head, as if not completely sure what he was agreeing to, but more focused on his father than the object his father was leaving to guard.

Clint got to his feet, and leaving his bow and quiver in the hall, took his son's hand to lead him back into his bedroom.

"It's almost 2am though, you need to get some sleep, little man." Clint said in as optimistic of a tone that he could.

As his father lifted him onto the small bed, pulling the warm quilt blanket over him, the small boy's desperate voice rang out as he leapt up and wrapped his arms around his father's neck,

"But I don't want you to leave." The whine in his voice suggested he was bordering on tears. And continued as he said into Clint's neck,

"I'm scared."

"Scared?" Clint questioned abruptly as he gently lifted his son off him, and sat him down on his bed, as he looked him lovingly in the eye and said,

"I didn't think I raised you to be scared of anything. Why are you scared?"

Cooper's glossy blue eyes looked down at his hands that were clasped in one another, as he said in a quiet, almost ashamed, tone,

"I don't really know why...and I don't want to be scared. But, I'm just scared when you have to leave me and mom."

Clint was silent for a moment, before he stood up and sat next to Cooper on his small bed. Holding back a sad smile, he gently let his hand rub Cooper's back, as he turned towards him and said,

"Well Coop, you know I get scared too sometimes."

Cooper looked up at his father with complete shock in his tired little face, as he waited for further explanation.

"I get scared for you, mommy, Nat, and even myself sometimes. But, I don't let it hold me back, because I know if I let that fear take over me, well I couldn't do my job. I couldn't keep you or mommy safe, and that would make me even more scared."

Lost eyes looked up at the archer as he let his father tuck him in, but he seemed to have calmed enough to let Clint do so. Ruffling his hair one more time, Clint said in almost a whisper,

"We've all got jobs to do, Coop. You're the big man in the house when I'm not here, okay? So even if you're afraid, be brave, for me. Think you can do that? And in return, I'll be brave for you."

A small smile spread across the boy's cheeks, as he nodded his head and let his brunette head sink back into the soft pillow. Clint sat there for a moment before he asked softly,

"Do you wanna hear a song?"

Cooper loved whenever his dad sang, whether it was by the fire inside or out, whenever a good song came on on their radio, or just randomly. Clint wasn't an overly talented singer, he could carry a tune for a few minutes, but nothing extraordinary. But to the boy, Clint was the best singer he had ever heard.

Nodding his head with an excited yet finally calmed look in his eye, he smiled up at his dad as Clint began to sing,

"Well the sun is surely sinking down, but the moon is slowly rising

So this old world must still be spinning round,

And I still love you."

The Archer's voice was gentle and rolling, almost in a folksy lullaby, as his calm grey blue eyes watched his son smile listen to him.

"So, close your eyes,

you can close your eyes,

It's alright. "

The boy as if on command, let his droopy eyelids close calmly to the melody of the sweet song.

"I don't know no love songs,

And I can't sing the blues no more...

But I can sing this song..."

There was a pause before Clint finished as he stood up, in a hushed and almost cracked tone, as loving yet slightly saddened eyes looked at his little boy,

"And you can sing this song

When I'm gone."

The Archer's soft voice trailed off, as he made his way out of the room, and quietly shut the door behind him. Looking back at Laura's room, he grabbed his arrow and slung his black quiver of arrows over his back, as he continued down the hall and the flight of stairs.


	2. Bring Him Home

**So my activity when it comes to updating my pics has been pretty inconsistent, I know. Originally I wasn't sure if I wanted to continue this fic / idea, but when brainstorming with my friend she helped me solidify this idea, and so I think I'm going to finish it. It probably won't be more than 10-15 chapters. Some will definitely be shorter than others, but it'll probably be around 1 chapter every 1-2 weeks.**

 **"Trigger" warnings will probably come at Chapter 4. I don't like to spoil my own fan fictions, but I will respect that some of my fics border on some rather dark or possibly upsetting themes. So I'll just say this fic will likely follow the general trend of my other works, if you're familiar with those.**

 **Feedback is always appreciated and I hope you enjoy this update that's coming like...20 years later.**

/

Three words had changed Natasha Romanoff's life, and while she for the longest time believed it was for the best, the aftermath of her best friend's compromise would lead to the hardest fight she would ever be faced with.

Coulson's declaration came out so solemnly, a sharp and cruel gospel,

"Barton's been compromised."

Phil would be the type to do that though, soften the hardest blow that could possibly be delivered to her. And that was why the moment she was able to fight her way out of the inconvenient and unimportant situation, she confirmed,

"But he's alive?"

And with Coulson's confirmation that the worst had yet to happen, she knew what her mission was. She was going to find him, save him, bring him home.

That mission would drive her through every hardship she faced in trying to do so. Joining a rag tag team of physically and mentally messed up individuals was not ideal for her, but she did it to find him. Fighting him on that helicarrier, as he tried so desperately to evict harm upon her, was nearly impossible for her not to pull her punches. But she fought her most dear friend like a lethal enemy, to save him.

Admitting her failures to keep him from harm hurt the most. The night he was taken by Loki, before Natasha followed Fury's orders to get Banner, she made a stop to a little farm in Iowa. Clint's wife deserved to know why her husband wasn't coming home tonight, and she deserved to hear this not from a caller or a letter, but someone in person, someone who cared as much about Clint as she did. And so at 3 in the morning, drenched in rain as she stood on the porch, Natasha told Laura what happened to her husband. Laura nearly collapsed, and as Natasha caught her and held her close for support, the only words Laura could choke out were, "Please Natasha, bring him back to us, bring him home."

/

Weeks later, a SHIELD quinjet landed on the outskirts of the isolated farmhouse in Iowa. Natasha had made sure Clint had spoke with Laura over the phone several times since she was able to get him back from Loki's grasps. But still, the archer seemed as if the prospect of returning home was terrifying. Natasha knew this, as she looked over to the passenger seat to see Clint with his head down, avoiding eye contact, and without the smile he usually had when coming home.

"Come on," she said encouragingly as she lowered the quinjet and landed it fully.

He didn't reply, simply looked down at his scarred hands as he fiddled with the ring on his finger.

Natasha leaned over, placing one of her hands over his as she looked up at his eyes and said,

"Come on, Clint. It's going to be okay, you're going home."

He exhaled slowly, shaking his head as he said almost pitifully,

"I don't want to hurt them."

In all the years Natasha had known Clint, the past week had revealed a side to him she thought she would never see. His jovial smile, down to earth tone, unfaltering optimism seemed to have disappeared entirely. It was understandable of course, he had lost a father in Coulson's passing. And of course the burden wouldn't pass anytime soon, because he blamed himself for it.

For once their roles were reversed, for usually it was Natasha who needed his comfort, his smile, his support. But now it was Natasha who grabbed his hands in her own, as she turned to look right at him.

The pain in his eyes made her stomach tighten, but she wouldn't look away.

"Clint..." she started softly, as she rubbed her thumb over his scarred hands. They both still bore the scars from New York, but Natasha knew his ran deeper.

"You would never hurt anyone you love. Both you and I know this."

He didn't say anything, he simply looked down and evaded her eye contact. He didn't have faith in himself to keep his family from harm, to love them. And this brought a look of defeat over the Avenger's face.

Natasha slowly laid a hand on his cheek, to try and draw him out from whatever burdening thoughts clouded him. He flinched at her touch, but his sad eyes looked up at her anyways.

"I'll stay with you. I'll look after you, all of you," she said.

His eyes looked up at her willingly, with a look of gratitude that Natasha took as progress.

"I will help you get through this. You're not going to be alone in this, I promise."

He nodded, and Natasha thought she saw a glimpse of a smile tug at his lips.

"You're going to be okay," she said softly, pulling him into a hug.

She stood up and held a hand out to him, to bring him back home to reunite with his family.

Natasha would stay back as Clint walked ahead, not wanting to interfere in a moment he needed. She watched as Clint quickly dropped his pack and quiver off his shoulders at the sight of Laura, as he rushes up the porch stairs to embrace her.

Laura cried into his shoulder, as he held her head and kissed her gently. She was sure words were exchanged between the two, but she couldn't hear from where she stood. As Clint held her tight as if afraid to let her go again, Natasha knew he would be fine.

She knew it would take time, and that he would still have nightmares, and that burden of guilt. But she knew he loved too deeply to ever hurt anyone he loved.

As a young Cooper rushed out to leap into his father's arms, and a Lila, who had just turned two, followed her brother out and smiled brightly at the sight of her father, Natasha approached Laura with a smile.

"Thank you," Laura said, still trying to dry her eyes as she watched Clint lower to his knees, as both young children and a golden retriever pup tackled him with love.

Natasha simply leaned onto the porch, as she shook her head and said through a smile,

"There's nothing to thank me for. He's family, after all."

/

Natasha would stay with him for three weeks. He never became a danger to anyone around him, but she worried about how he treated himself. For those nights she would wake up to find him surrounded by several empty bottles, or sitting alone outside at 3 in the morning with only a young dog by his side, worried her.

She may have been sleep deprived those weeks, but when she did have a night where Clint didn't wake up with nightmares or suffer insomnia, she slept easier.

Even when he eventually did return back to combat, it wasn't an easy comeback. He flinched at gunshots, hesitated before making a shot, froze at the sight of dead: whether enemy or ally. In those moments, she would cover for him, have his six. But she knew he, unlike those he worked with, was only human. And was therefore vulnerable to all the diseases, whether of the mind or body, that came with being human.

Eventually he was desensitized and hardened by the realities of their jobs. But while Natasha thought that Clint's struggle with loss, guilt, post traumatic stress, would be the only difficult effect of his compromised state, there were much more dire consequences that would soon follow.


	3. Beginners

**I would have had an update up sooner, however I have had a rather rough week. I have been in the hospital for half this week, and a spinal tap showed I have viral meningitis. I am slowly recovering from that, but seeing as fevers and other symptoms are keeping me out of school, I haven't had much to do so I wrote this.**

 **A little disclaimer, this chapter is where the main plot / conflict of the story I'm writing is revealed. If it takes a turn you do not like I completely understand. However as a writer, I tend to write more darker and sadder themes, just because it's what I enjoy. I am no expert in the topics that will be explored a little in this fic, however it is an idea I have had for awhile. I can promise that while taking a darker and more sad turn, there will still be happier moments in this fic along the way as well. But it will be bittersweet throughout. With all that said, I do hope you enjoy this chapter.**

 **I am very appreciative for all the great feedback I have gotten from both the Prologue and Chapter 1. I will be responding directly to all those who gave feedback tomorrow. Ideas, feedback, and suggestions are always welcome. Let me know what you do and don't like. Always grateful for my readers, love to hear from you guys, so thank you.**

It was during a mission in Siberia, several months after the events of Loki and New York, that Clint and Natasha found themselves pinned down by enemy assailants. Both ended up being found by Director Fury after Clint released a distress signal. Fury found them both struggling to stay alive in the harsh tundra their enemies had ambushed them in, with Clint propped up in a small cave, leg shot in several places with his flesh torn down to the bone. In his arms he held an unconscious Natasha, who bled severely from the chest despite a makeshift bandage on Clint's behalf, and who was nearly frozen despite Clint having draped his own heavy coat around her. However both made it to SHIELD's main hospital alive.

 _Five Days Later._

Walking down the halls, Natasha found herself suddenly stop as a figure came into her periphery. Backing up slowly to peer into a hospital room, Natasha was surprised to find Clint sitting on the edge of a hospital bed. With several bandages around his arm indicating IV fluid treatment, yet he clearly was no longer being treated, seeing as he wore no hospital gown, but just a plaid shirt and jeans.

Natasha stood there looking in at Clint for what seemed forever, and yet he didn't notice her. Sitting on the edge of his hospital bed, with hands clasped so tightly together that his knuckles looked white, he hung his head low with only his slightly spiked light brown hair visible from her view.

Natasha slowly willed herself to approach him, as she leaned against the doorframe and with a low voice broke the silence,

"Clint."

His head shot up instantly at his name, but while grey blue eyes indicated slight shock, his drooped shoulders and clasped nervous hands didn't change. Natasha simply raised a brow, enough for Clint to know what she was going to ask.

Clint, almost forcing a smile, finally sat up as he shook his head and said sarcastically,

"I think stalking me in the hospital and asking what is going on may be a violation of patient privacy rules...or something."

"Mhm, and I'm such an abider of rules," she said quickly, brushing off his comment with a smile as she walked in and closed the door behind her.

Clint, still feeling Natasha's questioning gaze, finally obliged to talk.

"Took awhile to set my leg right during the surgery and all. I can walk, not particularly well, but give it a week or two and I'll be back in the field," he said, pulling up his pant leg to show a large metal brace.

Natasha didn't seemed satisfied with that answer. That image of Clint with his head hung low like in defeat still played over in her mind. Clint was the generally optimistic one after all, but his voice now was too heavy to be upset over just a busted up leg.

"I'd say it took awhile, about as much time as it did for me to recover from a gunshot wound to the chest," Natasha replied quickly.

Clint looked at her slowly, knowing that was Natasha's way of telling him she knew there was more. Clint smiled, almost sadly, before diverting his gaze from the woman who stood in front of him.

He had answers for her, but they were neither answers he wanted to tell at this point, or that she would want to hear. But in the end he would tell her in that moment. Not because she would force him to, he knew he could talk around her if he really needed to. But because out of everyone in his life, for some reason he felt she deserved to know, and know first.

Natasha knew the man in front of her well enough to know when something was wrong. She had seen him deal with many hardships in his life, losing a father figure and his mind being one of the hardest parts of both their lives. If it was anyone else Natasha would push to get the information she wanted, but with Clint it was different. Stepping back and nodding she said softly, her eyes carefully finding his,

"Okay, if you don't want to talk I get-"

"No, no." Clint said, not wanting her to leave.

Grey blue eyes looked up to her, flashing with both conflict and sadness, before he shrugged and said through a small laugh as he shook his head,

"I just have the shittest luck, that's all."

Natasha's gaze softened as she slowly moved to sit down next to him on the bedside. It had been awhile since Clint had last had an episode of PTSD symptoms, but she figured winding up in the hospital and seeing his best friend shot in the chest could have done that. With her thin hand upon his back, she said calmly,

"You don't have to tell me what happened."

"It's not exactly something that happened," he said shaking his head.

"Well whatever it is, you'll get through it. We're going to get you through it, back into the field, back home, whatever you want. It'll be okay."

He just shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, and tried to laugh. All while avoiding her gaze of course. This wasn't unexpected however, Natasha knew this as very characteristic of Clint when he was nervous, uncomfortable, or upset.

"Your luck will turn up soon," she said softly.

"Or run out," he said rather quickly, and defiantly.

The tone caught Natasha off guard, but not as much as what he said next.

"Docs did a lot of radiology, to make sure nothing else was broken. Well I was sound as a bell, besides the busted up leg - Oh, and the mass they found."

Clint felt Natasha's gaze fall upon him, her green eyes pained as if physically wounded. He continued to speak, his tone casual, but his gaze constantly avoiding Natasha's.

"Well not _a_ mass, I should say. More like too many for them to count."

There was a silence between the two then. Both held gazes from each other. Neither had anything to say as Clint's words hung in the air.

Eventually it was Clint who looked over at Natasha, as guilt flooded him as she sat there frozen and speechless. He had hurt her, far more than the bullet had when she was shot in the chest several days ago. Knowing this, Clint let his arm reach around her shoulder, as he gently rubbed it and then pulled her close. Most anyone else Natasha would have been hesitant, stiff, uncomfortable. But with Clint in this moment, she fell into his embrace, melted in his arms, and let him hold her and comfort her.

Eventually Natasha collected herself and managed to ask,

"Where?"

Clint, who still was utilizing the tactic of denial through humor, tried to laugh it off as he said shaking his head and reaching for a folder beside him,

"I was hoping you wouldn't ask that."

He carefully slid out several films from radiology, and placed the images in her hands.

Natasha's eyes filled with only more pain as she saw images of what she knew were Clint's lungs and brain, only with tumors scattered throughout both organs.

Clint saw the pained look in her eyes, and after rubbing her back with his hand after she had a long enough look to answer her question, Clint slipped his hand under hers and pulled the pictures away. Tucking them away quickly, he knew she could torture herself looking at them. And he wasn't about to let that happen.

"Stage 2, but its aggressive, fast growing. Images should have made it pretty clear, both are inoperable."

"But there's treatment?" She asked, her questioning harsh and urgent.

"Nat…" he started, his voice losing that cocky gruffness she was used to, and instead becoming vulnerably soft, hushed, and careful. As if he knew his next words would wound her.

"It's terminal."

Natasha quickly turned her head down and away from him, as her eyes tried to close quick enough to hide the misting of her eyes. But as Clint touched her shoulder softly, to try and comfort her, she turned her head towards him, almost burying her head in his chest. He held her closer, until she said,

"How long?"

"I didn't ask. I don't really want to know either. Don't really wanna live out my life with a deadline," he tried to say with a lightness to his voice.

Natasha finally lifted up her head to look at him, as she shook her head in shock and asked,

"What about Laura, does she-"

"No, I haven't told her yet. I felt it was something I should tell her in person."

"But the kids?"

He shook his head, and for once that defeated look returned to his eyes,

"I don't know. They won't understand at their age, part of me thinks best not to scare them till they'll understand more."

Or till he had less time.

Clint reached to grab his jacket, quiver, and folder with his films and discharge papers. Looking down at the papers as if they weighed down in his hand, he looked up at her with a more serious gaze as he said with a slow shake of his head,

"Don't tell the others."

Natasha didn't say anything as he stood up and continued,

"They'll just see me as weaker than I already am."

"Oh come on Clint, they don't think you're weak."

Clint shook his head and laughed weakly as he stood up.

"Yeah well, you and I both know if you tell Cap, or Tony, they will both make sure I never see combat again."

"You can't work like this," Natasha said her voice lowering and gaze growing firm.

Clint, with rather a dumbfound look of surprise, said,

"You actually think I'm gonna waste away in bed or god forbid a hospital for the rest of my life?"

"You're sick," she said bluntly.

"I'm dying," he corrected.

Silence returned between the two, till he broke it, with an ease in his voice as he said almost casually,

"But I'm gonna live out my life doing what I love, kickin' ass and saving people. Not moping around on a bed pumped up with chemicals that make me look like the living dead."

"You'll get yourself killed," she said finally.

"Better than waiting around to die," he replied through a small smile.


End file.
